


But I never sleep, gotta bury me six feet deep where the sun don't shine

by SydneyFlaire



Series: Bayani Universe [20]
Category: Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral (2018)
Genre: Blood, Death, Guilt, Repent, Restless, Unburied, abandoned, bullet, corpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 02:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyFlaire/pseuds/SydneyFlaire
Summary: We all know that for some time, the soul of a recently departed remained at this same plane; until their souls were at peace over something. For Goyo, the only way for his soul to leave the realm of the living was to be buried at least. To finally sleep. Six feet deep. Where the sun don’t shine.





	But I never sleep, gotta bury me six feet deep where the sun don't shine

**Author's Note:**

> A spin-off story for the previous one-shot that was part of the #GoyoAngstStories.  
> You can also see my works on wattpad and fanfiction as "SydneyFlaire".  
> Follow me on twitter @JerseyLeigh for more updates. ;)

When the bullet hit him, for some reasons, he was expectant of the pain. Of course, it was normal, usual, a given. However, the agony didn’t last long. Perhaps, he was too much dead already to feel a much longer pain; not even feeling the fall to the ground, or hear the silence that ensued, or see what happened next.

It had been a quick death, at least. Compared to many others he had known—Etong cornered to death at San Rafael; Maestrong Sebio surrendered by his men at the fall of the Kakarong de Sili Republic; another young general falling in defense of Cavite; Supremo’s untimely death; General Luna’s end at Cabanutuan; and too many others—some whose death were his own fault.

He was actually expectant that he’ll be waking up the next time right in front of the gates of hell. At least, he knew where he was actually heading. And it wasn’t a paradise at all in comparison to heaven. He knew that Saint Peter won’t be calling his name. But, somehow, he was hoping to wake up somewhere else than the gruesome reality that hit him.

But he remained there. He opened his eyes, watching with great wonder why American soldiers closed around him. He knew that he was dead, for he shouted with all his might and nothing happened. He watched with great horror as they stripped him out of his uniform, his boots, his satchel, his hat, his medallions— _everything_ —leaving him on his undergarment alone.

They didn’t looked back after that. Not even caring to do something to honor the dead. But why would they?

The moment that the first shot was fired at Tirad, it was evident who were the preys. Being the general, he was the best catch of the game. He was the lead prey, and what do predators or hunters do when they hit their intentions? They took all of its worth and left it for others to find.

He was no longer the heralded hero. At that moment, on his death, he realized that he was just a small particle of the world. That on his death, the world would still continue living. Years later on, he would be forgotten, and his life would just be fleeing in the memory of those who truly wished to remember him.

But, for him, at this moment, he was just the Gregorio del Pilar from Bulacan, who was meant for too much greatness in life, but decided to die in order to allow others the chance to live.

 _Ang kayamanan ng buhay, kahit di man magagawang mapalitan, ay di mabibigyan ng halaga kung hindi dahil sa kamatayan,_  he thought.  _Lahat naman ng tao ay namamatay, may nauuna lamang._

At least, as a soul, he managed to move away from the bloody mess of where the bullet hit him. Entering by his nape and exiting his cheek with a blast. It destroyed his face, filling him with great horror. He couldn’t stomach looking at himself that way—cheek blown away, blood oozing at the brutal wound, eyes no longer bearing the spark of life, his body abandoned for someone else to feed on.

Crows circle overhead, weary of taking their part. But even if he  _shooed_  them away, he wouldn’t be able to do anything. Seeing too many deaths, he already knew what happened to a corpse exposed to the air. The rigor mortis, the smell, and the decomposition.

 _Sana ligtas lang si Enteng,_  he said to himself after a few hours of his death.

 _Ano kaya ang naging reaksyon ni Señor Presidente noong nalaman niya?_  He inquires after twelve hours.

 _Pasensya na, Kuya._ His regrets settled heavily on him the next day.

 _Tadhana ko ba na manatili rito?_  He challenged on the second day.

On the third day, he finally saw someone other than his degrading corpse left there and the view of Tirad. All he had done for the past days were to conceptualize, inquire and repent, even if it was too late. For on that third day, there arrived Vicente and Lieutenant Carrasco.

Both of them appeared lost and broken. They were silent at first, stopping upon seeing his body right there, and without other words after a minute of silence, the two reluctantly do the job that Goyo had been waiting for.

But the moment that the two finished excavating at least a pit, his body being placed onto the spot, and they started covering his unusual grave with rocks and sand, Goyo felt something weird.

He looked down on his feet first, seeing them slowly disappearing. His hands followed as he watched his own self dissipating. He turned one last time to where Vicente and Carrasco were, still on the process of burying him with cold and distant eyes. Still grieving; not for the lost battle, but for the loss of a friend and a general. For  _him_.

He murmured something in the wind as a sad smile crossed his face as he looked up at the otherwise cloudy sky with an eagle flying overhead.

A few seconds later, he completely disappeared. 


End file.
